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Third Millennium Almanack
An webzine published every now and again
via the Internet, which should, in the coming
thousand years, save a few wads of paper
and spare a whole bunch of trees.
Number 31, Spring 2006
In the 6th year of the 21st century
© 2006  Rich Limacher
Everybody wants to be
on "Reality TV"


Including Osama bin Laden's niece*!

webzine is mostly supposed to disturb
you enough so you'll start thinking about
what's going to come long after you're gone


Please send editorial material, immaterial, ads, subtracts,
and everything else to:

Baud, what frauds these e-bytes be!


Then you can click on this for the genuine stuff:
*Yes, there she is, Ms. Wafah Dufour Bin Ladin, who last year, rather scantily--if at all--clad, posed for GQ magazine and now wants to continue on her "quest for stardom" via some sort of American reality TV show--based, naturally, on her own life.  Ms. Dufour, who says she has officially dropped those rather infamous last two words from her last name, is in fact the daughter of Public Enemy Number One's half-brother Yeslama and Carmen Bin Ladin, whose last names are spelled a bit differently from Osama's.
So far we don't know what will be the broadcast vehicle of choice to catapult herself into "stardom," but according to her publicist ReganMedia President Judith Regan, "her story will bridge the gap that people feel exists between the cultures she has lived in."
We're thinking the mini series ought to be a cross between "The Bachelorette" and "The Amazing Race."  How about this for a concept:  "Which of 24 available single American commercial pilots will Osama's niece choose to hop on a plane and get the hell out of the country with just as fast as she can?"
Let's call it, "The Dare We Spring Her Show." 


Chair of Contents:

    rare - wisdom - and - fluff

   f                                        e      Happy

   e v e r y t h i n g   -   e l s e   
   a                                       d      feetures:
   t                                        b     p on scrolli
   u                                       a    e                n
   r                                        c   e                 o
   e                                        k   k                 n
p s   page numbers are  no longer necessary
 (because  everything  is  all  on  one  page)
"Feetures" in this issue include:
a)   Osama-mama, where ya Bin Ladin?
b)   "Forgotten Dead President's" Long Overdue Birthday Party
c)    Irish Mutt
d)   Prizewinning Poetry
e)   Twin Opinions on Spring Break
f)    Kermit Jagger, what a toadal bastard!
g)   Yankee Folly of the Day
h)   Halloween Revisited
i)    <updated> Media Message
j)    Must-Clicks & Free Promos
k)   Video/JavaJive (free "movie" clip!)
l)    Dept. of Bumper Sticklers
m)  c. c. ceesonal poetry
n)   Vertical Cartoon
o)   Twin Brilliance in U.S. Leadership
p)   Trillion Bucks Ultra
q)   Feedback
r)    Photo ID Quiz (and Helpful Counterfeit Service)
s)   Today's Recommended Websites
t)    Great White Hunter with "Extras" and
u)   The Twin-Headed Snake
( Q_Q )
How in the World Could We Have Missed This?
Uncle Ben's most strangely distant cousin Middle Income Richard now wishes his dear old forefather dude a very happy belated birthday.  Mid Inc Rick woulda "been there and done that" a heckuva lot sooner, except for this MAJOR technological breakdown [including, but not limited to:  switching phone and/or ISP companies, installing--or attempting to--this here new whiz-bang DSL service, and ultimately now entering into a serious, though pleasant, major symbiotic professional relationship to put this entire dubious "penny almanack" on-line, into a website, and available to the throngs and multitudes 24/7 for the rest of eternity].  M.I. Rick's not sure whether his great-great-great-etc. strange Unc would be pleased, but surely "the spirit of invention" still thrives today as it doubtless did then... but even Rick has to admit:  Franklin's press, postal service, lending library, kite, and stove were one helluva lot simpler concepts to manage than deciphering HTML language to plop new poop on the Internet.
Here, for the record, is the exact date on which the great man was born:  January 17, 1706.  So today this makes our pseudo dead prez* on the hundred buck bill a fraction over 300-1/6th years old!
M.I. Rick would therefore like to e-mail something else "Uncle Ben" never heard of (a cyber-greeting card):
(Click on "Learn about Ben")
Now then, here's further sampling of "technological breakdown" (call it clerical oversight...probably) -- the type of which Ben Franklin also never experienced; but, we're guessing, stupid typesetters abounded even in his day.  Imagine "publishing" an entire "website" conceived and dedicated to the tercentennial celebration on one man's birthday... and then NEVER STATING the exact date of his birth!
You think we're kidding?
OK, Bunky, click this:
Closest date we see there is 1-18-06, which is wrong!
All right.  Since nobody's old enough to remember anyway, let's just dig on some of the still-preserved rap the original ol' fat "Great One" spouted "back in the day":
(It's a webpage full of his quotes.  We like the last one at the bottom of the page.)
*BTW, for all the "historically challenged" out there, here's a jive-talkin' big bucks hint:  Ben Franklin, though dead, was never a president.
@ @
And Now For All You "Irish" Out There :)
A farmer named Muldoon lived alone in the Irish countryside except for a pet dog that he had for a long time.

The dog finally died and Muldoon went to the parish priest, saying, "Father, the dog is dead.  Could you possibly be sayin' a Mass for the poor creature?"

Father Patrick told the farmer, "No, we cannot be havin' services for an animal in the church, but I'll tell you what:  there is this new denomination down the road a ways--and no tellin' what they believe in--and so maybe they will do somethin' for the animal."

Muldoon said, "I'll go right now.  By the way, do you think $50,000 is enough to donate for the service?"

Father Patrick exclaimed, "Why didn't you be tellin' me the dog was Catholic!"
             --Thanks be goin' out to Greg Valent for this wee bit o' blarney
THIS *JUST* (ha ha) IN:
Selected for publication in the Best New Poets of 1988, page 148,
one of those "prizewinning" national poetry contest publications where,
if you agree ahead of time to buy the book,
you "win" the national prize of having your poem published.


By C. C. Writers

© 1988


I do my doo in a private place

I certainly don't wish to discredit my race

Man has a babit of saving his face,

So I do my doo in the private place.


I do my work in a working place

I don't prefer making it a federal case

Or have my financing fall from grace,

So I do my work in the working place.


I chomp my chow in an eating place

I never allow morsels to go to waste

Actually I have rather demanding taste,

So I chomp my chow in the eating place.


I snooze at night in a sleeping place

I simply can't afford to continue this pace

Naturally I never insist on a bed of lace,

But I do have to have my sleeping place.


I sent this poem to the sending place

After I wrote it down in the working place

And talked it over at the eating place

And slept on it some at the sleeping place--

Long after I thought it up in the private place.


# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #
What's Wrong With This Picture?
[hint: it was taken during spring break]

This, according to the Associated Press [thanks for letting MIR borrow, BTW ;] and launched over the whole wide world via Yahoo! and the Internet, is a photograph taken around the time of spring break in no other place on the planet than Milner Library on the campus of Illinois State University.  Well, dang!  ISU happens to be Mid Inc Rick's alma mater!
So, a coupla footnotes may be necessary:
1. This is a new Milner Library.  The old one where Rick hung out might be rubble by now, no thanks to Rick and the hippie/yippie protest movements of the '60s.
2. Rick never saw anybody in Milner Library during spring break.  And certainly never any body like this!
3. Those weird machines on the tabletops must also be new.  Rick never saw them "back in the day," and STILL has no clue what the hell they are.
4. Why is this chick not doing her work?  [And where are her: books, notes, papers, pencils, piercings, and tattoos? :-]
5. And finally, when "illustrious" alumnus Middle Income Richard tried to e-mail a free webzine subscription to all the old gang at I-State?  They said: "No thanks.  Please remove us from your distribution list.  We don't want our Inboxes full of spam."

What's Right With This One?
[also snapped during spring break]

"Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy."

                                            ~Benjamin Franklin

Let's Get Back to the Irish Green of Springtime:
First this:
Our Hero, Mick Jagger, at the Academy Awards... toading along with him...
...the very latest in babymaking machinery.

Oh, that is just TOAD-ally too cute!  


Nah, we mean this:

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
And Now For Something
Amphibiously Interesting
+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +


Our Hero pointing the finger of paternity at somebody else!


A frog goes into a bank and approaches the teller. He can see from her nameplate that her name is Patricia Whack.



"Miss Whack, I'd like to get a $30,000 loan to take a holiday."



Patty looks at the frog in disbelief and asks his name. The frog says his name is Kermit Jagger, his dad is Mick Jagger; and that it's okay, he knows the bank manager.



Patty explains that he will need to secure the loan with some collateral.

The frog says, "Sure. I have this," and produces a tiny porcelain elephant, about an inch tall, bright pink and perfectly formed.
Very confused, Patty explains that she'll have to consult with the bank manager and disappears into a back office.
She finds the manager and says, "There's a frog called Kermit Jagger out there who claims to know you and wants to borrow $30,000, and he wants to use this as collateral."  She holds up the tiny pink elephant. "I mean, what in the world is this?"
The bank manager looks back at her and says...  "It's a knickknack, Patty Whack. Give the frog a loan. His old man's a Rolling Stone."


                    --captured off the Internet
                       and sent in by Ida Hey

Have a nice spring break!



+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +
Also from the Internet:

"When we drink, we get drunk.  When we get drunk, we fall asleep.  When we fall asleep, we commit no sin.  When we commit no sin, we go to heaven.  So, let's all get drunk and go to heaven!"
                                                     --Brian O'Rourke
WARNING:  The consumption of alcohol may cause pregnancy.

:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-( :-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(

Yankee Folly of the Day:
An overheard recent conversation.
He:  What do you know about Ben Franklin?
She:  Oh, it was a wonderful dime store.  We used to go there all the time as kids and spend our allowance money.  They had great little toys and things.  But I think most of the Ben Franklins are gone now.

:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-( :-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(:-(
Hey!  Speaking [last time] of great
Halloween costumes:

Hollywood is now making an X-men sequel!!!
[Go ahead, take one good guess what Rebecca Romijn-Ex-Stamos is wearing]
Also, Ain't a Limo about the Same as a Hearse?
He:    What's the difference between
           an Irish wedding and an Irish wake?
She:  One less drunk.
Everytime's Repeated Media Message:

         *         *         *         *         *

It's no secret that one of America's most inventive
founding fathers, Benjamin Franklin, got his first real "break"
in the media by not pandering to the tastes of those old
stodgy publishers of his time, but by coming up with
something completely different all on his own.  He published
a simple one-page annual periodical called "Poor Richard's
Almanack" and sold it along the streets and rivers of the
colonies for a penny apiece.  And it thrived as a business
for the next twenty-five years.  So now, some two-hundred
seventy-odd years later, you get "Middle Income Richard's
Third Millennium Almanack" soon to be selling along the
buy-ways and Java-streams of the Internet for a buck a copy,
especially now that it's been miraculously, and successfully,
installed on a website.  And for that Mid Inc Rick owes a
huge debt of gratitude to D.C. Lundell and Gillian Robinson,
owners and founders of ZombieRunner.com.

         *         *         *         *         *

So far, for the past umpteen issues, this e-rag's been free.
But before the next umpteen are published, however, this
particular freedom of yours might somehow be taken away,
and you'll be asked to surrender as many as twelve U.S. dollars,
via credit card or otherwise, to the dictatorial parent company
called C. C. Writers, at P.O. Box 963, Matteson, IL 60443 USA.

         *         *         *         *         *
In the meantime, however, please don't take all this
technological wizardry for granted.  You have our permission
and supplications to continue sending in your cards, letters,
ads, "subtracts," encouragements, detractions, and good ol'
coin o' the realm in the form of U$A one-dollar bills to the
above-mentioned post office box; and you're also invited to
thoroughly search through everything offered by MIR's hosts,
the Zombies, on their truly awesome website.  And finally,
of course, Uncle Ben Franklin's weird and most strangely
distant cousin M.I. Richard thanks you very much.
         *         *         *         *         *
Oh, and keep thinking "green" to help save our environment
by promoting
paperless publishing!!!
And, hey, It's OK.  Go ahead and forward this link to a friend!

"Only two concepts I'm pretty sure of:  perdition and taxation, and I ain't all that positive about the first."
                                --Mid Ink Rick
/ / \ \ / /  \ / / \ \ / / \ \ / / \
More Franklin-like Wisdom from Yet Another Dead Man:
"When I read about the evils of drinking, I gave up reading."
                                --Henny Youngman
[start] * * * * * * Must-Click Links * * * * * * *
Hey, if you're still runnin'...
(and ya ain't dead yet)
...you need to do some shopping here!
[end] * * * * * * Must-Click Links * * * * * * *

[start] * * * * * * Free Promos * * * * * * *
+ American Red Cross:
or, if lines are busy, try:
This is a serious public service.  Especially in this day and age when both natural and manmade disasters seem so prevalent.  If another one happened tomorrow, for example, would you know which number to call or what website to access?
The Family Links Registry is another one:
Call  1-877-LOVED-1S  to help you locate anyone missing in a disaster area.

Also, as always, be sure to check out Running Delights at:


...for many of your running/walking/sporting
personal and/or gift-giving needs.  Like, for example,
something special for that special someone
you do (or would like to) "sport" with?

0 -


Here's one last friendly professional promotion:

If it's custom furniture you'd like in your home or
workplace, you couldn't do better than asking ERDMAN
WOODWORKING of Silverton, Colorado, to build it exactly to
your specifications.  Write to Eric at this e-mail address:

"Tell 'em you were sent by Mid Ink Rick!"

[end] * * * * * * Free Promos * * * * * * *

( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ )
Quick.  Click this, unless you're real sensitive to pseudo-religious issues.
[This has nothing to do with "religion."  It exists in the same vein as "Godspell" did--only funnier.]

Check it out:

( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ ) ( @-@ )
Latest Eye Candy Sight-For-Sore-Eyes from the Cited Department of Bumper Sticklers:
|                                                                                                     |
|                  Who Should Sit On The Supreme Court?                 |
|                              Justass Anna Nicole Smith                    |
Seasonal Poetry:
anycar drove in a pretty wow town
by c. c. writers
© 2006
(with apologies, of course, to e. e. cummings)

anycar drove in a pretty wow town

(with up so flat and three tires down)

this summer winter autumn isn't

she sang his did she danced her didn't.


Women and men(both fit and small)

cared for everyone not at all

they sowed their buz they reaped their whiz

did not quite know what sunshine is


iTechs guessed(but only a few

and down they'd scroll as up they thru)

that autumn winter then came spring

dong men gone they looked for ding


schoolean Boolean and page by leaf

she laughed his ploy she spied his brief

bird by street and plow by puhl

fit as anyone's noone's fool


someone suddenly took his chance

laughed his cry and did his dance

(sleep wake toss and hope)she'd

said her nevers would soon be freed


snow and winter and storm and rain

(and only the book can begin to explain

how running reminds who forgets to remember

what spell of wizardry was last september)


one day an author got dead i think

(and noone stooped to read his ink)

Bi-Z folk booked his burial vault

everyone said it wasn't my fault


all by all and sleep by sleep

and more to themselves by they keep

noone and all partitioned by earth

wished by god they never saw birth,


Women and men(both dong and ding)

never knew words and would not sing

rode their wow and fixed their flat

and nothing else evermuch came of that.

_ _

Vertical Cartoon
Probing The Depths of Mind of a Potential Psychotic Killer
                                       (  \==/   )
I'm just a good ol' boy.
Or, maybe I'm a champion.
A people's champion.  That's it!
I'm the champion of the people.
But, the people are all cowards.  They
are pitiful and weak.  They deserve
the plight they've put themselves in.
They really don't deserve a true
champion like me.
  ==================/\\\\     _________
                \_____|_|_|_|_|___               (
                                                \ ) /
                                                                                      This is a magnificent weapon.
                                                                                      A single-barrel pump action shotgun
                                                                                      is truly a marvel of modern American
                                                                                      gunsmithing, even though it's Italian.
                                                                                      Of course this could be used for
                                                                                      reckless, even deliberate, homicide.
                                                                                      A weapon like this would be very useful
                                                                                      to those bloodthirsty mooks hoarding oil
                                                                                      and gouging Americans at the pump--
                                                                                      without me being let in on it.
                                                                                      I gotta improve commerce in the
                                                                                      Middle East.
           \                  \
           /                  /
That's right, it's a quail.  A legitimate and legal game bird.
Or, maybe we just like to shoot the little bastards
for no good reason on earth, except for bragging
rights and the trophy.
I think of 'em as terrorists, flying
miniature 747s.
That's my club. A truly magnificent organization it is, too. Only the very best men in America belong.
Or, of course I might not be considered a current member, because I haven't yet paid this year's dues. One of my staff was supposed to take care of that, but apparently she forgot.
Ah, screw it. I don't have a current valid hunting license either.
    / o  o \
    (     --     )
      /  \__
   /                \
  |                   |
  |                   |
                                        That's Harry Whittington.  He must be an
                                        Iraqi sympathizer.  Probably a damned Shiite.
                                        Or, he's just my boss's buddy only.
                                        He's done nothing for me lately.  Or
                                        for America.  Him an' the boss are most likely
                                        in pump-gouging cahoots, without me.
                                        Hey, I have a pump!
| | \ / | / | /
<   Ka-BOOM!!!!!   >
/ / | / | | \
                                       (    \==/  )
 =================/\\\\     _______
              \___|_|_|__              (
                                    \ ) /
Die, al-Qaeda scum dog!!!
Or, hell.  He'll probably just live.
All these park rangers and cops
owe me big time anyway.  This'll
only go down as a hunting accident.
Next time, I'll have a better weapon.
I'll use my car bomb.
Hey!  I'm  the champion.  I keep
the bad guys out and the oil
flowing in.  I give cause for all
effete intellectual snobs to die.
I am the Champion of America,
His Majesty the Vice President
of these United States!!
Here's More on "The Accident":
Oh, But There's Even More Coming!
That was one leader of the kingdom
of Amerika, duly elected.

Here's another:

And Meanwhile the Arctic Is Melting:


We're down to our very last one of these:


And your descendants are inheriting
a $9 trillion debt.
I guess Uncle Sam, by god, oughta collect a little tax, huh?
_ _
Uncle $am's Trillion Dollar Ultramarathon
by C. C. Writers
© 2000
[Editor's note:  This was originally written half-a-dozen years ago for Mr. Writers' friends---every bit as wacky as he is---who also run distances in excess of 26.2 miles.  So, you need to understand there's a few "inside jokes."  Two other things you need to know:  1) "the Barkley Marathons" is a 100-mile footrace that happens every April in the back hills of Tennessee.  It is fundamentally impossible to complete this race.  In its 20-year history there have only been 6 finishers, and last year The Powers That Be banned the thing outright---but now it's back.  And the miracle of its resurrection... well, we're saving that story for Easter; and 2) in 2000 the federal tax return deadline was extended to Monday, April 17th, at midnight.]
The most nefarious annual ultramarathon in the country ended Monday night at 12:00.  (Notice it ended on a zero.  Had it ended on a one, it would have meant the next millennium.)  This ultra, however, had a variable starting time--perhaps not all that much different from the annual Across The Years/Decades/Centuries/Millennia race held in Arizona.  But you could start this ultra almost as soon as Uncle Sam sent you the prerace booklet.
I, however, was entered in The Last Minute event.  This is a classic annual contest whereby it is fairly important NOT to begin until the day it's scheduled to end.  And you can (and perhaps should) sleep in that morning.  Except that for this ultra, instead of waking up, crawling outside your tent, stretching, peeing, and putting your running shoes on, what you do here is wake up, stay inside the hut, sit down, try not to shit your pants, and take your shoes and socks off.  Might as well start out comfortably.
And it's not all that much different from the Barkley, is it?  I mean, which one is even close to being decipherable?  They both have books, too, don't they?   Isn't the object to find the right one, and tear a page out of it?  Several, in fact, and always after following circuitous routes as the time drags on and the cutoff draws closer.  Let me put it this way:  With Uncle Sam's ultra, if you worked a little at everything possible, in as many different ways as you could, and won or (lost) something along every way you went, you'd end up having to tear quite a few pages out of every book that's ever been printed.  Yup, just like Barkley.
I started Monday morning at about 8:00, after first having done the Four S's.  (The fourth S is "swear.")  And I didn't even need to report to a race official, check in my bib number, or notify my lap counter.  Believe me, Uncle Sam already knows.  And besides, everything these days is color--or bar--coded.  He'd already sent me my find it/peel it/stick it address label.  My Unck can tell after I finish where I was when I started.  It's never pretty.  And if he already knows, why should I tell you?
Was this going to be a PR run (i.e., escape to Puerto Rico) or would it merely be another event in a long list of ultras I tried to do better at but ended up just barely finishing?  At first, the race book instructions seem clear enough.  And you are even instructed whether you really should do it or not.  Again, just like Barkley.
You start down the long twisted path of the very first map, but then something very funny happens.  Before you can get even halfway down, you need another map.  And that means another book.  And that could mean another trip.  (You might even have to RUN during this ultra!)  And, once you find the other book with the other right page and finally succeed in tearing it out (Barkley, I believe, is easier here), you then discover that in order to finish this new map, you first have to have completed the first map so that you can enter that figure onto the second map in order to take a percentage and multiply your chances to subtract from the amount you have left when you started in order to locate whatever you find on yet a third map and then go back to reduce what you show on the second by how you finished the first.  I will keep reminding you, Barkley is easier.
And you can do this up to five different times!  I did.  I have schedules A, B, C, D, and (sometimes, when the damn upstairs apartment is rented) E.  Each one's finalizing depends on the other one's finishing.  And, just like Lazarus dictates, the order's reversed!  Honest to God, so help me.  In there somewhere, in one of these consarned BOOKS, I read that death is no excuse.  So, Uncle Sam's ultra is unique, yes?  If you're going to die, you first must finish and then you can die.  At Barkley, I believe it's OK to die and be done with it.
Napoleon was right.  There actually are only two things you have to do in an ultra:  Make sure your name corresponds to your bib number and, naturally, pay the fee.
Of course, it's impossible with Uncle Sam's ultra to actually READ any of those instructions in the prerace multi-set volumes of booklets.  And how do you know whether you're going to need Form 6969 or Schedule ZYX or Publication 666--if, say, you have a (loss)--unless you first work your way through all the sawbriars and actually find that you've lost something?  Ah, our Unck expects us to know these things in advance.  Or else, of course, start the race earlier.
I never do.  I deliberately wait till the last event (the 12-hour) comes around before I take off my shoes and socks.  I want to see if those "estimated completion times" they put in that first prerace booklet have any basis in reality.  I want to know if the other ultra people they've averaged include Eric Clifton or Rob Apple.  Or Kitschme Siouxme.  This last weird character is in a completely different bracket.
Uncle Sam's ultra assumes that you've already computed what you're just now guessing, that you've already gotten to where you're just barely going, and that you've already finished before you even get started.  I'm a kind of runner-writer.  My Unck requires me to complete the back part of Schedule C before I can complete the front part.  I'm also required to keep a record of  "last year's inventory."  (And if this year's is different from last year's, I have to check the little red-course-marking-flag box and "attach explanation.")  So this is how, for my particular category, I complete the Uncle Sam Ultra's third loop:

Inventory at beginning of year:   Less Words
Purchases less items withdrawn for personal use:  Dictionary, all "F" words withdrawn
Cost of labor:   You tell me.  What's five loops cost?
Materials and supplies:   Shoes, two each; socks carried over from previous year
Other costs:   What price insanity?
Add lines 35 through 39:   OK, 35+36+37+38+39=185 (my bib number)
Inventory at end of year:   More Words.

Well, OK.  I finished the ultra.  I wound my way through the thorny maze of a thousand sheets, pages, parts, sections, lines, columns, boxes, attachments, and, of course, exemptions to any or all of this.  And I believe that during the process, Uncle Sam killed a thousand trees.  But he also had the foresight to allow for some portion of this year's finish to be reserved for the killing of next year's
trees--when the same maps, schedules, mazes, find-em/stick-em bib numbers, books, and tear-out pages will all be reprinted and prescribed all over again.
One last comparison really should be made to our friend Matt Mahoney's so-called Million Mile Ultra, except that they do differ significantly.  You MUST, for example, finish our Unck's ultra every single year.  But with Matt's, you never will.  Unless, of course, Matt borrows from Sam perhaps his greatest "line" of all:  carryover.  ["If you have a (loss) you must depreciate it over the life of your (loss) depending on whether it is a 5-year (loss) or a 15-year (loss) and depending on which method of losing you used (the ACRS or the straight-line method) and if you used the wrong kind you must also attach Form FU and if you used the right kind you must check this red-flag box and enter your finishing time in Publication UR."]  Yup.  All Matt has to do is carryforward your mileage totals and apply them to your own ultra-taxed descendants into the next millennium.
So, when I finally turned the corner and located the correct four-lane path to the post office Monday night, there was forty-four minutes still showing on the clock.  I (loss) no time.  I crossed the threshold of the finish and deposited my correctly ripped-off bib numbered collection of book
pages into the right box next to the wanted posters.  And no race director took out his bugle and played "Taps" for me.  But neither did anyone else applaud, give me a medal, or serve chili.
One amazing ultra, huh?  And one they actually expect EVERYBODY to finish EVERY YEAR!
So, there's your answer.  Next time anybody asks why you run these silly long footraces, you can tell them in all sincerity:  "Because it helps me do my income tax."
/ / \ \ / /  \ / / \ \ / / \ \ / / \

Yesterday's Feedback:

[start] * * * * * * E-letters to the Editor * * * * * * *
[Editor's note:  We are apparently quite lax in this department.  No "feedback" whatsoever was published in MIR #30, although quite a bit was received following MIR #29.  One item prompting considerable and interesting response was the following:
Hah!  It reminds me of a question I once set loose before my most learned non-grammatically-challenged colleagues:  Would it ever be possible in a correctly-spelled English expression for FOUR (4) s's to appear in a row with no other letters intervening?  Three s's is easy:  That gas hog over there is my boss's car.  But four?
(Should anyone ask, I'll show you such stuff next time ;)
Well, apparently Mid Ink Rick was NOT very clear.  It was meant that NO LETTERS OR SPACES could intervene.  Four s's would need to appear in a row exactly juxtaposed, although punctuation without spaces would be allowed.  In fact, it would be necessary.  Keep reading for, uh, "the solution."  Meanwhile, since these instructions were not made clear, several "contenders" sent in such entries as the following:]
M. I. Richard:

That ass's stupid remarks came from my boss's son.
Dan Baglione
Foresthill, CA
via e-mail
M. I. Richard:

And now to make an ess of myself, here's six of them in a row:

"The empress's s's sound like etheth becauthe she thufferth from thloppy thibilanthe."

Peter Fish
Gold Hill, OR
via e-mail
[Editor's note:  Peter subsequently sent in another one, which (wouldn't ya know) started something.  Mid Ink Rick wrote back, then Peter wrote back yet a third time.  See if you can figure out who wrote what in the following exchange.]
M. I. Richard:

For some reason, this correspondence put a poem in my head, which will only go away if I pass it on to you (try this about mile 85 of the ultra of your choice).

Moses supposes his toeses are roses
But Moses supposes erroneously
And Moses, he knowses his toeses aren't roses
As Moses supposes his toeses to be


>The Empress of Roses sore toeses knowses
>And those "roses" need hoses occasionally
>Water not footsweat she proposes to Moses
>So whose roses hoses Moses eventually?
>[Ya see what you've done to me today?????]
Oh hell, one more, and then I fold:

A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose is
The rose Moses knows is the rose that his toeses
Arose from, a process that Moses's gnosis
Supposes was owing to metempsychosis

--Moses Stein
(via e-mail, ya think? ;)
[Editor's answer:  Four s's in a row...  OK, let's factor in "contractions," shall we?
Here's a double-s-ending-noun singular possessive:  boss's car.
Can we not say (referring to that selfsame car) that the boss's is here?
Well then, why not the noun-verb "to be" singular possessive contraction?
Mine's here, yours's here, hers's here, and the boss's's here, too.
Sounds like group-think inventory on a freakin' parking lot! ;-)
No?  Look how the plural would look:  the car belonging to both bosses's here.]
M. I. Richard:
we have the extraordinary good fortune to live where
there is freedom of speech, verbal & photographic

somehow omitted from the below verbiage & pictorials
are comments referring to the governor of Louisiana
failure to immediately provide relief to New Orleans citizens
the herding of new orleans residents into a football stadium
and a convention center without providing food, or
water or diapers or formula, or porta-potties
or rudimentary clothing & blankets
the photos of the hundreds of busses that could have
transported 300,000 people to safety within 24 hours
but the busses were left to float & people left to
be subject to anarchy & violence from their own
"friends and neighbors"
or about the absolute stupidity of people to choose to live
below sea level, despite prior floodings, and expect
the sea would not reclaim its own province

so now, we shall be unrelentingly taxed to fund the welfare of
the stupid, and to rebuild a city which will be eventually
doomed to similar recapture by the sea

sure, we're charitable & will contribute to the aid of the displaced,
but we don't need to rebuild the levees & the low level
former city; fix causeways to the string of casinos who paid
over $500,000 per week into Louisiana coffers,
cover the space between french quarter & casinos
with landfill & put in tourist accommodations on the landfill
relocate the displaced to higher ground
never again would we need to be concerned about levee
failures, if a storm is coming, shut down the casinos & the
visitors will soon leave
meanwhile, the $500,000 per week will provide habitat
for humanity with all it needs to build better homes
for the new orleans poor on flood safe terrain

the first line of defense for this event lies with the preparedness
and response system of the city of new orleans
that was an horrific failure
the second line of defense rests with the preparedness and
response of the state of Louisiana
an equally glaring error
FEMA would have had a much lesser role, but for the errors
and omissions of the city & state
so the first 72 hours post flood are unquestionably
attributable to city & state

that being said, the initial FEMA response was a desperate
attempt to save the living, & that was recorded by the media
in exhausting detail
meanwhile there was vast mobilization to take the members of the
national guard out of their real lives & do what the city & state
demonstrated they were incapable of doing
so despite the media hype & spin electing to do "FEMA bashing"
within 5 days the FEMA operation managed to bring order
and relief beyond anything that had ever been experienced
in this country, which the media should applaud,
not criticize

you appear to find this event appeals to your unique sense of
humor and/or political bias and alignment and/or seem
succumbing to the biased media view;
I believe there are many perspectives which have
greater logic and reasoning (which you may or may
not choose to consider)

Dick Macknick
Homer Township, IL
via e-mail
[Editor's note:  That we've steadfastly resisted "editing"!  It has a certain poetic appeal, yes?  And... a certain critical sting against Mid Ink Rick's usually overly pompously screamingly liberal editorial stance.  This is to be encouraged.  If everyone thought like Rick, who could he argue with?]
M. I. Richard:
Have you checked the dosage level on your meds lately?
Creative stuff; loved the photo of Bushes fishing.  Such an incompetent fiasco--how many days ahead of time was it known a Class FIVE hurricane was coming with New Orleans in its path?  Repubs blame city and state govt. for being unprepared for the disaster, as if any state would have the resources to handle a disaster of that magnitude.  And of course, where is the National Guard--in Iraq; and where is all the federal funding--in Iraq.

Lame duck is going to turn into rotten crow for Republican tables come 2006 and 2008.  Unless they eat that tainted fish from Nawlins.

Name withheld by request
Chicago Suburbs, IL
via e-mail

M. I. Richard:

Reading this got the cobwebs out of my head!

The FEMA stuff just makes my blood boil.  I was just reading in the local Times how areas that received a mere inch or two of rain in past disasters or were not affected whatsoever received millions in aid while the levees in the poorest areas were left unrepaired.

Thanks again, Rick.  Can't wait for the next webzine.

Connie Karras
Cedar Lake, IN
via e-mail

M. I. Richard:
It was obvious that it was a "composed" photo but there is something of truth in it as well.  I forwarded it with the caption "Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day.  Teach him to fish and he'll embarrass a nation for a lifetime."  Got a few chuckles on that one.

I think I'd respond to the Dubya supporters with the fact that NO 9/11 type attacks occurred on Clinton's watch... That didn't make him a GREAT president but at least he's bright enough to speak the English language, keep us in the black, and have vast improvements throughout his "reign."  After all these years, Bush can't even say the word "nuclear."
Michael Moore may not be a "patriot" in whatever sense they mean it.  But how is GW a patriot when he shirked his duty to our armed forces?

My favorite quote of late:  "Osama bin Laden still has his job, do you?"

Loved the webzine.  The Barbara Bush quotes were amazing... have gotten them from a few sources now.  I don't have an Idiot Box [television set] so I don't hear these things unless I catch the right segment of NPR [National Public Radio].

Have a terrific day!
Lisa Butler
Colorado Springs, CO
via e-mail
[Editor's note:  Lisa is also a gifted poet.  We sincerely appreciated her poem about the Hurricane Katrina disaster that she contributed to MIR #29.]
M. I. Richard:
I heard on the radio that Pres. Bush has been defecating solid gold, and that the experts (not "scientists" but creationist political appointees) all agree on its rare and valuable properties.  The Pres., in his usual offhand manner, just shrugged all the praise off, saying that he is, after all, a Republican Texan.  He has agreed however, in return only for a one hundred percent tax credit (a nominal pittance in his tax bracket), to donate his entire output to charity, to be fed to the poor at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter.  "Taxes are for the little people and Texas is for the mighty big shots; so I just want the little people to know that Texas is doing something with their taxes, and they are getting something back," he was heard to exclaim as he boarded his helicopter.
In a more serious streak, I wonder when the great American population is going to wake up and smell what is happening, namely that a pack of spoiled, mean little brats is stealing from them.  The most incredible transfer of wealth in the history of the universe is going on right now--from the poor, middle class, and merely rich to THE SUPER RICH. The great Arabian War is a vast engine that extracts money (not to mention the lives of perfectly good soldiers) from the public, and gives it to the Skull and Bones club members, where it vanishes without a trace.  Now they've got a contrived disaster in New Orleans, which they are milking in similar fashion.  All the while these dreadful little snots "praise the Lord" and thump their bibles, so that the really stupid people that vote for them will vote for them again.
As an American, I can say that we really are that stupid, and we deserve whatever we get.  My last calculation indicated to me that about 50 million dollars accrues to the Bushes and the Cheneys (Oh, do go f**k yourself, Massah Cheney!) for each U.S. Marine death they amass.  The murdering, insane Islamists are no threat by comparison to that posed by the Bush Dynasty and their owners.
Name & location withheld by request
via e-mail
[end] * * * * * * E-letters to the Editor * * * * * * *
From the Original:
"Who shall in good verse explain me clear
Shall have this Gazette free, one year."
                              --B. Franklin (a.k.a. Richard Saunders)
                                Poor Richard's Almanack
                                (and also his Gazette)
[It seems as though he, too, relished a good contest to bolster subscriptions for both of his publications.  Be thankful you're living today, however, because he expected his readers---in verse!---to solve riddles.  Mid Ink Rick only asks you to recognize pictures.  What could be easier?]
Our Special Illegal Service this Month to Counterfeiters
and also (coincidentally) The Photo I.D. Quiz
What do you want to mess around with Jacksons and Hamiltons for?  This here's the baby you reeeeeally wanna stick on the face glass of your four-color-process photocopier.  All's you're missing now is whatever the heck's on the reverse side and, of course, some Treasury paper.  But, heck, you can whack up a stack of that by recycling one-dollar bills!  ;-)

So here's your quiz:   Be the first to identify exactly who the "dead president" is on this currency (i.e., first name, last name, what office he held, and when) and win*!!!
*absolutely not a damn thing, although,
perhaps with a little more negotiating
and a LOT more interest on your part,
maybe next time we could offer a
ZombieRunner prize...???  Or, sure,
at least one free subscription to this webzine ;)
Answer to last time's photo I.D. quiz:
(Which nobody identified correctly)
"Quick.  Be the first to identify just what in the heck is happening here (i.e., who's doing what and to whom) and win*!!!"
Well?  Why should we tell you?  Nobody even bothered to venture a guess!  (Although you all probably noticed it was President Bush in the pic... apparently having the zipper on his trousers fixed... ;)
Today's Recommended Websites:
Hey, sportsfolk, try this new Dick Cheney Hunting Game!
Then afterwards, here's where you can shop for souvenirs:

Ben Franklin on TALK:
"Well done is better than well said."
Mid Ink Rick on Franklin:
"He looks a damn sight better in my wallet, than yours."

Here, by the way, Is Where You Could Spend that Ten Grand:
(maybe you'll get one of these in the mail soon)
_ _

Dick (head) Cheney
  Great White Hunter
  Vice President of the United States of America
Member, no doubt, of the NRA
(whose special spokesman, Charlton Heston, once raised
just such a lethal weapon as this high over his head
as he rallied the multitudes,
like he once did as Moses,
and declared for all posterity that now-infamous motto:
"Out of My Cold Dead Hand")
This one's for you, Dick:
''Bang Bang
He shot me down
Bang Bang
I hit the ground
Bang Bang
That awful sound
Bang Bang
Dick Cheney shot me down"

                         --(with apologies, of course,
                              to Sonny & Cher)
Or, for fifteen of 'em, You Could Buy "We, the Rat Snake" on eBay:
(maybe this reminds you of some "fork tongue twins" in, for example, Washington DC?)



Price: $150,000, or real damn cheap when you add up what these in The White House are costing us.
Photo credits for this issue (top to bottom):  1) Ms. Wafah Dufour Bin Ladin, daughter Osama bin Laden's brother, in a publicity photo shown in March 2006 (Reuters/PRNewsFoto/ReganMedia photo);  2) US$100 bill obverse as shown at www.wikipedia.com;  3) Interior of Milner Library, Illinois State University, Normal, IL, taken March 7, 2006 (AP);  4) Exterior swimming pool, Cancun, Mexico, taken March 14, 2006 (AP);  5) Mick Jagger and companion L'Wren Scott at American Academy of Awards on March 5, 2006 (Gregg DeGuire/WireImage.com);  6) Mick Jagger/Rolling Stones singing at halftime during Superbowl XL (Reuters);  7) Publicity still from X-men United, 2003 (20th Century Fox);  8) parody of "No Child Left Behind"-Bush Administration federally funded education policy (Watchersweb.com);  9) B-15A iceberg melting at Antarctica, November 2000 (AFP-HO-NSF filephoto);  10) Planet Earth seen from space (NASA);  11) US$10,000 bill obverse as shown at www.thecurrencyhouse.com; [previously unidentified and possibly fabricated PhotoID-puzzlerNumber2.jpg] photo showing President Bush with attendants (cfr. MIRTMA #30) was as shown on Watchersweb.com;  12) fictional "White House Invitation" as shown on Watchersweb.com;  13) Vice President Dick Cheney hunting on February 11, 2006 (Reuters);  14) "We," a rare two-headed albino rat snake offered for sale on eBay for $150,000 (AP).
"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."  --Albert Einstein
# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #



[Middle Income Richard's will return
at some as yet unimaginable, non-specific, and
similarly improbable opportunity in the future]

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